


Bucky Barnes and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

by Poe



Series: when we become who we are [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (a bit), Actor Steve Rogers, Actually Pretty Damn Wholesome, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anxiety, Bucky / Nat Friendship - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky-centric, Coming Out, Conventions, Dysphoria, Fandom, Feminine Bucky Barnes, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Gray-Asexuality, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Internalized Transphobia, Irish Steve Rogers, It's just February for the whole fic because what is continuity really?, Light Angst, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nonbinary Bucky Barnes, Para-social Relationships, Power Dynamics, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Natasha Romanov, Queer Steve Rogers, Slutty Harry Styles as an aesthetic and life choice, Texting, The cactus is a metaphor, Twitter, Writer Bucky Barnes, nonbinary Natasha Romanov, nonbinary author, updates every wednesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poe/pseuds/Poe
Summary: Bucky Barnes is the nonbinary author of one (1) successful book, and harbours a slightly severe obsession with Irish actor, Steve Rogers.Steve Rogers is elusive, and never interacts with fans, which is why it's such a surprise when he's announced for Brooklyn Con.Bucky has never bought tickets so fast in his life.Never meet your heroes, right?Or: a love letter to conventions, fandom, meta and the space we've carved out to explore ourselves and who we are.
Relationships: Bucky / Nat friendship, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: when we become who we are [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716919
Comments: 262
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ACometAppears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACometAppears/gifts).



> This fic is finished and will be updated every Wednesday. It has ten chapters (plus one tiny epilogue). If there are any warnings for chapters, I'll post them here, but there shouldn't be anything worse than what's in the tags.
> 
> Bucky uses he/him pronouns throughout the fic, but identifies as nonbinary and feminine. It's still very early in their journey of self-discovery, so I hope this makes sense. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)

Bucky looked at the sad, droopy cactus on his desk. He was pretty sure that cacti weren’t supposed to be droopy by nature, and that in a very real way, he had managed to kill the only other living thing inside his apartment.

If this was a metaphor for his life, it would be a strange and prickly one, but it’s fair to say, as Bucky breathed a sigh that was half frustration and half tired loneliness, the cactus was, as the kids would put it, hella relatable.

He rested his fingers on the keyboard, staring at the blank Word document, and very intently typed _jkjkjkjkjkjkjjkjkjkkkjkjkjkk_ until his finger started twitching and begging for him to stop. He backspaced the letters one at a time, and turned his attention to the little clock at the bottom of the screen, which either ran three minutes fast, or his phone was three minutes slow. The clock on his oven said it was 3am, which he didn’t think was right, given the lazy February sunlight coming through the blinds, so who could say, really?

He could check his emails and nobody could judge him, because nobody would know. He clicked over to Chrome and the notifier ran through his various accounts, until his super-secret Steve Rogers account made that weird ping noise that sounded way too loud over his speakers, and told him he had one new email.

It was probably the fan twitter account with more paparazzi shots, which he didn’t really like to look at, but he shrugged, sort of, and opened the email account, to find an email from constalker.com telling him that Steven Grant Rogers, the star-crossed love of his life, would be attending Brooklyn Con and tickets were available now.

Steve Rogers didn’t do conventions. He was, if not aloof, then private, and handled fans the same way you’d handle a wild ferret – that is to say, with deference, care but ultimately no real attachment. He didn’t do stage door, he almost always skipped the red carpet, his interviews were like magic eye puzzles in as much as the more Bucky stared at them the more he hoped to gleam from them.

The Irish actor, Oscar nominated, no less, was an enigma. And he was coming to Brooklyn.

Bucky didn’t realise his fingertips _could_ sweat until they were slipping over the keyboard trying to input his credit card information. Later, he couldn’t tell you why he made the choices he made, or how much he spent, or how after he clicked confirm he may have blacked out for a moment, but when he came to, he had a confirmation ticket for two photo ops and a VIP autograph package. And two tickets to Brooklyn Con, naturally.

His heart beat way too fast in his chest, and he tried to control his breathing, but it sounded harsh even to his own ears, and so he slid off the computer chair and onto the floor, pressing himself up against the wall, between the trash can and his bed, and waited until the world started to make sense again.

Holy shit, was he going to meet Steve Rogers?

He raked a hand through his hair, grimacing as it caught in the knots of yesterday’s braids. He should get a haircut. Should he? No. That was stupid. Everyone said they loved his hair. What if Steve didn’t like his hair. Had Steve mentioned in an interview whether he liked long hair or not?

Bucky ran through his mental database of Steve Rogers facts and came up empty. He wasn’t even sure how to Google that question. No, he’d save that one for when it really was 3am and he was freaking out in the quiet of the dark.

It still kinda felt like maybe he should change his entirely personality, wardrobe and face, just in case Steve Rogers fell in love with him.

He barked out a laugh, and the empty apartment rang with it.

Steve Rogers would never fall in love with Bucky Barnes.

If you asked Bucky what his gender was, he’d identify as tired.

If you asked Bucky what his sexuality was, he’d identify as tired.

If you asked Bucky what his fashion-sense was, he’d identify as tired.

Largely, then, Bucky was tired, and the rest was just shit he didn’t like to think about. He wore his hair long and his hoodies big enough to keep his body more akin to an amorphous blob than a human frame. He wore sweatpants with stupid slogans across the ass because Nat bought them for him from weird Chinese sites. He wore the same Converse he’d had in college, mostly falling apart, but still functional enough to technically be called shoes. He’d threaded through the rainbow laces himself. They were the fanciest part of his whole vibe.

Sometimes, if he was being dragged out to do book stuff, he wore eyeliner and dabbled in glitter. It made him feel pretty. He liked to feel pretty. Nat would do his hair and pick out a less terrible outfit, and for an evening, he’d feel like maybe he was a proper human being.

But mainly it was the whole sweatpants situation that was the norm.

(Today’s sweatpants said ‘Trouble’ in Russian. He didn’t know how Nat found them, or why, but they’d turned up at his apartment nonetheless. They had pink piping down the sides of the legs, and the pockets were big enough for his stupidly large phone, so it all worked out, really.)

So he’d just spent, (he peeked up to double-check the email) several hundred dollars and now he was on the floor freaking out.

So that was going well then.

He grabbed his phone and texted Nat, because she would understand. She too, in many ways, identified as Tired, but had weaponised it, turned it into a specific brand of ‘Tired Of Your Bullshit’ and he respected that. To most people, she was all sharp edges and fire red hair, but to Bucky, she was the person who sent him gifs of otters holding hands in the middle of the night with the caption ‘ _this could be us but you playing_ ’.

Nat was really fucking cool, was the long and short of it. He wanted to be her when he grew up.

In the meantime, though, he was very much himself, and what he was doing was frantically typing the words ‘ _STEVE ROGERS IS COMING TO BROOKLYN CON I BOUGHT YOU A TICKET I’M GOING TO DIE BUT WHAT A WAY TO GO. HELP_ ’ into his phone, before it pinged off into the ether and found its way to Nat.

She’d know what to do. She’d definitely go with him.

If only to mock him, but still. That’s what real friendship was.

He pulled up Chrome on his phone, Google knowing he what he was going to search for after he’d typed the letter ‘ _S_ ’, auto-filling it to ‘ _Steve Rogers_ ’ and bringing up Steve’s Wikipedia page, IMDB page and a few news articles about his recent Oscar snub.

He’d started out on British television, having moved to London with his mother as a child, but his accent still curled around his vowels with every word that he spoke, and he never turned it clipped and English, leaving him to stand out in a sea of clipped and English. He was shorter than most, all lean muscle, and his hair was a thick muss of golden blond, curling up at the edges like some kind of cherub. It seemed like he could both blush and cry on command, and the latter made those super long eyelashes look Bambi-like, more cartoon than real life. After striking out in a couple of BBC period dramas, he found a starring role in an experimental anthology series that had gone on to win him several BAFTAs, and allowed him to catch the eye of Hollywood.

He’d worked on indie pieces, never sticking to one type of role, never allowing himself to be typecast. It was brilliant and frustrating to watch for Bucky, because there was no way to eke out his real personality from the characters he played. He threw himself into them bodily, seemingly disappearing into them, breathing life into them, and then, when it was over, the character was a fully-formed creation, and Steve Rogers was nowhere to be found within them.

The Oscar nomination, though, had come from a quiet film about a young man growing up and accepting his sexual identity, in a seaside village where everyone had a secret, and those secrets were currency and could be traded for status. It was tense, subtle and beautifully shot, and each scene seemed artfully designed to co-exist with the characters, revealing more about them than their veiled words did.

Bucky had seen it seven times in the cinema, and quite frankly, believed, when it came to the Oscars, that Steve Rogers had been robbed.

Twitter agreed with him.

And now, what, a month after Bucky had watched the television in disbelief as Steve’s name wasn’t called out, it seemed Steve had decided to fly over to Brooklyn and engage with his fans.

Bucky tapped through to Twitter, and yes, it was carnage on there, people boasting about how they’d got tickets, or bemoaning the fact that they hadn’t. But the overarching question was, why had Steve Rogers decided to come to Brooklyn Con?

Bucky idly liked every shakily written tweet cursing Steve Rogers’ perfect existence and strange life choices, before sending out a tweet of his own into the universe:

**@buckybarnes: Afternoon in Brooklyn and the stars are aligning. I’m heartsick for a man who doesn’t know I exist. Will it hurt more once I know that for one brief moment I did exist for him? Watch this space.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'Slutty Harry Styles' aesthetic is anything Harry Styles would wear, but shorter, sheerer, or tighter.
> 
> Or: a shopping trip, a changing room rendezvous, and a deer in headlights.

“I feel like this is way more e-girl than you’re intending it to be,” Nat said, gesturing at the outfit Bucky was modelling for her.

“We’re saying no to the crop top?” He asked, looking down at himself. He’d been aiming for slutty Harry Styles, but might have veered off one way more than the other. In more than one direction, he should say. He considered telling Nat that pun, before realising she would probably kick him for it.

“We’re definitely not saying no to the crop top. Look at your abs, Barnes,” she pressed a finger to one of the protruding muscles and he wriggled away, ticklish. “You’ve been working out.”

“I stress exercise,” Bucky said, paused, then added, “stress-ercise.”

“I hate you. So much,” Nat said, a small smile, just for him, on her face. “Those pants, however, are doing nothing for your thighs. He needs to look at you and imagine being smothered by them.”

“Is that good?” Bucky asked, not sure if he wanted to smother Steve Rogers with his – ohhh, like that. Okay then, yeah, okay.

Nat raised an eyebrow.

Bucky blushed.

“I will find you something. Perhaps leather. I’ll see. I want you to make straight men cry.”

She turned on her heel, leaving him standing with the curtain to the dressing room open behind him, and headed back into the shop proper.

“I guess I’ll be here?” He muttered to himself, stepping back into the dressing room, and pulling the curtain to before shimmying out of the, okay, admittedly terrible pants he’d been trying on.

He was a little unsure about the crop top, if he was honest, it would be another step out of the closet, but then again, another step toward who he wanted to be. Who he deserved to be, Nat would say. 

He heard the shnick of the dressing room next to his being pulled open and shut, and a deep voice talking either to themselves or on the phone. It was probably the latter.

But you never could tell.

“I don’t know, Sam, you know I can’t dress myself,” the voice was saying, alternatively muffled as clothes were pulled on and off. “This whole store gives a slutty Harry Styles vibe.”

The voice was quiet for a few seconds, before:

“No, I know I like that, but not on me. No – don’t say it – I told you not to say it. Okay, well, you’re terrible.”

The voice was heavily accented, and Bucky would bet all the money he wished he had that it was Irish. There were a lot of Irish accents in Brooklyn, but they’d generally been rounded out over the generations, to sound more generic. This one was pure and heartstoppingly familiar.

“I don’t know,” the voice was saying, and Bucky listened silently, hardly daring to breathe, “the shop assistant was really helpful, but they handed me rainbow striped flares and I had to draw the line somewhere. I have this – I don’t know, I want to say pirate or vampire white blouse thing, which I could make work, but I’m feeling very uncomfortable right now.”

“Barnes, worship me, because I have found the perfect – ” Bucky reached out from behind the dressing room curtain and pulled Nat in before she could finish what she was going to say. He held a finger to her lips, and with his other hand, grabbed his phone and swiped open the Notes app with frantic swipes.

_STEVE WROGERS IN NEXT ROOMM_

“You lie,” she hissed, but Bucky just nodded over to his right, where the voice was still talking.

“ – high-waisted, sort of tweed? I’m not sure. I’m worried I’ll look about four foot tall. Hey, that’s just rude. I’m only slightly below average.”

 _Oh. My. God_ , Nat mouthed.

 _I know_ , Bucky replied. Nat flapped the arm that wasn’t laden in some serious tight looking pants. Bucky waved the hand holding the phone. One of them squeaked, but both would deny it.

(It was, in an uncharacteristic break from the polished façade, Nat, in fact, who squeaked, though if you ever mentioned this to her, she would break your thumbs and you would end up thanking her for not doing worse.)

“I don’t know, if I’m going to be here a while then I might as well see the sights. They’re literally paying me to be here, so. Yeah, I know, I know, you don’t have to – Sam, it’s going to be fine. They’re just fans. Lots of people do it. You’re just a worrywart. I have – what, warts where? Oh, yeah, sell that to the papers. I’ll tell them you gave them to me. Warty Wilson, they’ll call you. Look, I just think – yes, I know, I know, but don’t you think I should dress up a bit for it? I’ve seen some photos and people just wear jeans and a t-shirt, and I think, these people are paying so much money, I should make an effort.”

“Oi,” a new voice sounded, directed at Bucky and Nat, “no canoodling in the dressing rooms.” And their curtain was ripped open, and yes, it looked a little suspicious, because Bucky was still standing in his boxers waiting for new pants, and both of them had the sort of intense look on their faces that could be ascribed to lust, and Bucky thought he heard the voice (Steve? Steve Rogers?) next to them chuckle low into the phone and begin to relay a version of what was happening to the mysterious Sam, as the guard summarily told Bucky to put on some pants and either buy the crop top or put it back where he found it, thank you very much.

“Rude,” Nat said, as they headed to the tills, Bucky’s dignity left far behind him. Bucky dumped the crop top on the counter, and fished in his sweatpants pocket (today’s message: _BERNIE SANDERS_ in gothic lettering. Bucky had already gotten cussed out by two separate groups of MAGA idiots that day alone. Worth it.) for his credit card, wincing as the small piece of fabric cost him way more than it should.

He thanked the cashier, and turned to leave, and bumped straight into –

Steve Rogers, who had the aforementioned blouse and high-waisted pants tucked neatly over his forearm, waiting to pay. Looking every inch like the goddamn angel that he was. Sent to earth to save Bucky’s very soul. Or ruin it for all eternity. Bucky didn’t mind which.

He looked at Bucky, Bucky looked back. He opened his mouth like maybe he was going to say something – 

Bucky made like a goldfish and gawped, and Nat took the initiative and all but dragged him away, grabbing his bag for him off the counter.

When they’d rounded the corner of the block, Bucky remembered how to breathe.

“We have to go back,” he announced, like he was about to launch a rescue mission into enemy territory. “I have to tell him that I love him.”

“As much as I love to facilitate your poor life choices, I want you to rerun that sentence in your head for me,” Nat said evenly.

Bucky did. It still made sense. Steve Rogers was _right there_. Bucky _loved_ him.

“Barnes, what are you reasonably going to say to him? Other than offering to have his children.”

Bucky thought for a few seconds. Okay, it had mainly been that. And possibly a proposal of marriage.

“Consider this a trial run for when you meet him in two weeks’ time. Who knows, he might even remember you. That’d be something to tell the grandkids.”

“Our grandchildren will be gorgeous. They’d have his eyelashes,” Bucky said dreamily, before everything snapped like an elastic band in his head and he realised what had just happened. “Oh shit. I pretty much just ran away from him.”

“You looked like a deer in headlights,” Nat confirmed.

“A sexy deer?”

She just looked at him.

“Ohhhh no,” he said, wilting dramatically.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “This was a trial run. You’ll do better next time. You can’t, objectively, do worse.”

“I could vomit on him,” Bucky pointed out. She made a face.

“Yeah, maybe don’t do that.”

“Now it’s in my head.”

“We need to get drunk,” Nat said, before correcting herself, “ _I_ need to get drunk. Come on, slutty Harry Styles, I see only one direction we can take this in.”

“Oh, it’s fine when you make the pun,” he said, but let her thread her hand around his elbow and guide him to the nearest bar where the drinks were both cheap and high volume.

“I’m classy, you’re just a disaster. It’s about how you play it.”

“I _am_ a disaster,” Bucky said, heartfelt.

“Maybe Steve Rogers likes disasters,” Nat comforted him.

“That’d be nice,” Bucky said, and then they were at the bar, and shots were being ordered, and things got kind of hazy and a bit strange after that.

*

He woke up, briefly, at 2.34am, in Nat’s bed, her feet tucked between his thighs, his chest pressed against her spine. _It could definitely be worse_ , he thought to himself. He had two weeks to find some semblance of normal he could pretend to be for the convention.

And maybe, just maybe, he could get Steve Rogers to fall in love with him.

Nat mumbled in her sleep, like she was disagreeing with his very thought processes now.

Steve Rogers _could_ fall in love with him. Stranger things had happened. And Bucky was going to be wearing a crop top.

Should he get a navel piercing?

He’d ask Nat in the morning.

He huffed out a breath, winced at the smell of it, and closed his eyes.

He’d figure it all out in the morning. Sleep now.

**@buckybarnes: ILL BE YOURR SULTTY HARRY STYLES STEBE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking a chance on this fic! I really hope you like this chapter. Ooooh, I wonder what's going to happen.
> 
> This is Bucky's crop top: https://imgur.com/a/GKV4eO1, art is actively encouraged and will be rewarded.
> 
> Next time: anxiety, writer!Bucky, and para-social relationships.
> 
> You can find me at jbbarnes.tumblr.com or @smallreprieves on Twitter or Instagram.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: backstory about stories, Twitter, and para-social relationships. (This is kinda a filler chapter, sorry.)
> 
> Or: releasing a chapter a day early for James Buchanan Barnes' birthday because I'm depressed and he makes me happy. There'll probably be a chapter tomorrow too.

It was sort of terrible the way time seemed to pass both way too fast, and way too slowly at the same time when Bucky was waiting for something, and with two days to go before the convention, he was on the verge of vibrating out of his own skin.

“I’m an adult human who lives independently and remembers to buy milk,” he repeated to himself. Out loud. Like a normal human being.

He’d been replaying his encounter with Steve in his head _a lot_ , wishing he could go back in time and hear what Steve was going to say to him. Whatever it was, it would have been magnificent, crafted by the gods, Bucky would have got it tattooed on his forehead. Steve Rogers could do no wrong.

He was not alone in his pre-con hysteria, Twitter was in full swing and the few Steve Rogers sightings the press had managed to capture of Steve wandering around New York (like a fucking tourist, doing tourist things, on his own, Bucky could have shown him around, dammit) were getting retweeted at an alarming rate and flooding his feed. People seemed to have gone fully fuckin’ feral and that particular train showed no signs of stopping.

Bucky felt positively restrained.

He and Nat had decided on his outfit (the crop top, with a pair of nearly-too-tight black jeans, and yes, he’d got his navel pierced, and he didn’t cry no matter what Nat might tell you otherwise), she was going to do his hair and makeup for him, and he’d even decided what poses he wanted to do for his photo ops. He was leaving the autograph up to Steve, seriously considering tattooing whatever he wrote, if not on his forehead, then maybe on a limb at the very least.

He really hoped Steve remembered him.

(Positively.)

(Like a sexy deer in headlights. A modern day siren. Except, no, that metaphor doesn’t work at all. Oh dear. Ha, dear, deer. Bucky might have been having a perpetual crisis, it was hard to tell.)

Sure, when he went to bed at night and stuffed his face into his pillow, he tried to sleep, but before long he found himself imagining walking up to Steve Rogers’ table, and actually saying words to him. And that gave him a stomach ache.

He’d never been to a convention before, so he’d made a habit of watching vlogs on Youtube. They looked, well, vaguely insane, but in the best possible way. He appreciated the unironic enthusiasm on display, the hard work of the cosplayers, the way everyone seemed to have come together to celebrate fandom and absolutely loving every second of it.

(Bucky was going to buy so much merch. He could tell already.)

He was kind of focusing on how he was going to get through the day. He didn’t normally struggle with anxiety, but there was nothing normal about these circumstances. He kept reassuring himself that everyone on Twitter was freaking out just as much as he was, if not more so, and it was Steve Rogers, the love of his life, and he was going to meet him!

(Tagging ‘again’ onto the end of that sentence felt false, because he’d royally fucked up the first time.)

(He was going to do better this time, he was sure of it.)

He opened his laptop and clicked over to Twitter, and there at the top of his timeline was the Valentines Instagram video Steve and a friend had made in a moment of candidness the fandom had gone wild over, with Steve and the friend giving hints on how to get a valentine. It was all super cute and supportive, right up until the end, when the friend went to turn the camera off, and Steve muttered a tiny ‘ _fuck_ ’ of amusement, one second that had been giffed and looped for posterity for all time, and that, _that_ , was the closest thing Bucky had found to Steve’s real personality, in all of his searching.

And he loved it.

He was in too deep, and he knew it. He was the type of fan Steve Rogers should probably get a restraining order against, perhaps, but having read a ton of convention horror stories, he was certain he was going to be nothing but civil towards Steve, and definitely not push any boundaries that would in any way upset Steve.

Thankfully, anyone on Twitter mentioning planning anything untoward was quickly shut down, and whilst Bucky didn’t like to get involved in fandom drama, he did throw a few likes in the direction of people calling the harassers out.

In hindsight, he sort of wished he’d put together a cosplay, maybe something from that urban fantasy solarpunk film Steve did a couple of years back – but no, Bucky wanted to meet Steve as himself. If it had been anyone else, he didn’t think he’d be tying himself in knots so much, and he wasn’t sure how it had gotten this out of hand, at what point admiration and lust had become something so personal and inextricable from his personality.

He’d always been a good kid in school, with good grades, he kept his head down and didn’t really attract any attention. That continued into college, where he discovered a love of creative writing and found that, hey, he was actually good at this. After winning a few online competitions, he’d been picked up by a small agency who’d basically told him to write something, something amazing, and they’d try to get it published for him.

He knew it never came this easy, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he tried to write the novel he wished he could read.

The words just wouldn’t come.

Scrolling through Netflix one day, he’d selected a film by accident, and too dejected to do anything else, he’d watched it – and there he was – Steve Rogers, playing the role of a tiny secret service agent (and sniper) during the Second World War. He didn’t get much screen time, but it unlocked something in Bucky, and he had soon watched Steve Rogers’ entire filmography. And bit by stubborn, hard won bit, his creative juices started to flow, and he started to craft a story of two boys, separated by war and then by time, and how their love might just save the world.

He wrote it in a desperate, manic rush, going to sleep at 3am with plot lines and fragments of dialogue itching in his head, and he’d wake up bleary eyed at 5am to tap it all out and do it all over again, writing like he was emptying a well, eking the bucket over the edge then dropping it down to refill all over again.

It was exhausting, it was heartbreaking, it was the hardest thing he had ever done.

But he had finished it, eighty thousand words later, and what’s more, he was proud of it.

He’d sent it off to his agent, fully expecting to be rejected. In the end, he hadn’t written it to be published, he’d written it for himself, for who he’d once been, for who he was, and for who he wanted to be.

He chose to use J. B. Barnes as his name, and thought no more of it, still too uncertain in his skin to own ‘Bucky’ and what that meant to him. 

The agent sold it to a big five publisher for more money than Bucky felt it was decent to admit, and from there it took on a life of its own, and he had Steve Rogers to thank for all of it.

He wondered, sometimes, if he hadn’t tapped the wrong button on his controller and selected that film, where he’d be now, or what he’d be doing. Whilst he wasn’t a household name by any means, he was making enough money to get by, and his agent was fiercely wrestling with the people who handle that sort of thing to get it adapted into a film or television series.

It was all mad, entirely, and Bucky had to take a step back or it would drive him insane.

He wanted to tell Steve Rogers that he’d written a book because of him, that his life had been irrevocably changed because of him. How he owed him everything.

(It mattered, you see, more than you might realise.)

Nat would tell him, over and over, that he could have written something beautiful without discovering Steve Rogers. And maybe he could have. But it wouldn’t have been the same.

So he owed Steve that – owed it to him to tell him what he’d inspired. Maybe Steve would be flattered, who knew?

He wanted Steve to be proud of him, was the crux of it. The way he was proud of Steve, for being so authentic and honest and for never compromising. He wanted Steve to look at him and think he was a good person.

He wanted Steve to look at him and think that in another life, they could have been friends. Could have been lovers. Could have been two people who had shared some kind of bond, whether it was platonic or romantic. Two equals.

Bucky had watched enough leftist Youtube to understand that these feelings weren’t healthy. He hadn’t been entirely swept away. Para-social relationships? He was on that shit.

He didn’t mount his heroes on pedestals, as a rule. He didn’t really have heroes aside from Steve Rogers though. So maybe he did elevate him a little higher than he should.

But fuck, you never meet your heroes, right?

That’s not how that sentence goes, is it?

**@buckybarnes: Two days to go and I’m considering getting my eyelashes permed. I don’t like things going near my eyes though. PLEASE ADVISE I’M FREAKING OUT.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to James Buchanan Barnes, who inspired me to start writing again and in doing so, changed my life forever. He may be fictional, but he has made a very real impact on me and so, like, thanks. Also I'm really depressed right now and he's the only thing that's sort of holding me together. This fandom has helped me understand myself and my feelings in so many ways, and I will never be able to repay that debt. 
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> You can find me at jbbarnes.tumblr.com, or @smallreprieves on Twitter or Instagram.
> 
> Next chapter (which will be uploaded tomorrow): Bucky gets ready for the convention, Nat helps. I sort of love their friendship in this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: it's the day of the convention, and Bucky gets their makeup done.
> 
> NOW WITH ART BY jaybrogers.tumblr.com BY THE AMAZING @jesuisgrace (AO3): https://jaybrogers.tumblr.com/post/616756629930655744/commission-for-eusuntgratie-based-on-jbbarnes

The day of the convention, Bucky woke with a start at 5.04am, having finally managed a couple of hours of fitful sleep. He took a moment to orientate himself, before groaning and mashing his head into the pillow, then rolling over and all but falling gracelessly out of bed and onto his knees, slowly getting to his feet like the evolution of man.

It was all very elegant.

Nat was going to get to his at around seven to make him look beautiful, which meant he had two hours to kill. Heading to the bathroom, he stared around the room, eye catching on the cactus, which was still soldiering on, dying, but not yet dead. If it had been a metaphor for his life, it was a concerning one.

After a long shower, during which he rotated himself like a rotisserie chicken under the water and shaved every inch of his body save his head, before deep conditioning his hair until it was both squeaky clean and shiny as a new penny, he stepped back into his bedroom, towel around his waist, picking up the outfit he was going to wear, the airy tulle pastel pink crop top looking innocent in the crook of his arm, the same way his jeans looked just like any other jeans, not like the top secret weapons they actually were, carefully chosen for maximum impact.

If Steve Rogers was dressing up especially, consider this mutually assured destruction.

He let himself air dry a bit before attempting to put the jeans on, there was nothing worse than tight denim over wet legs, but when he did finally pull them up over his ass, they looked _good_ , showcasing his thighs in a way that Nat said was probably illegal in the more southern states. And the crop top?

Well, everybody was going to be questioning their sexuality today, Bucky thought, as he pouted into the mirror. It was unlike him to show so much skin, but he managed to quell the unease of dysphoria roiling in his belly, and instead focused on the way the crop top held him just so, accentuating everything he wanted it to.

He padded through to the kitchen/living room to grab some breakfast, knowing he might not be able to get food at the convention, popping some bread in the toaster and reaching for the chocolate spread, something that made Nat pull faces at him. He also poured some cereal into a bowl, because he didn’t want to get lightheaded or have to step out at any point. He wanted to be fully present, and not miss a moment of the day.

He crunched his way through his chocolate-y toast, then through his cereal (also chocolate-y, it was a wonder he had abs, if it weren’t for book-related stress-ercising, his stomach would be significantly softer, and that, in his opinion, was fine, and far more on brand for him anyway). Putting the washing up away, he let his mind wander, thinking about Steve Rogers, what he might be doing right now. Was he nervous too? Was he getting dressed in a hotel room somewhere, or an AirBNB? Was he eating cereal?

It must be pretty daunting, Bucky acknowledged, to face the prospect of meeting potentially thousands of people and having to pretend (?) to be interested in every single one of them. Bucky had done a couple of book signings, and it had been genuinely exciting, but nothing on the scale of Brooklyn Con. He didn’t envy what Steve Rogers had signed himself up for, to be honest.

Bucky wondered if he’d just be another forgettable face in the crowd.

Nat had told him to be prepared to be disappointed, and as much fun as playing dress-up was, he had to acknowledge that he was not as special to Steve Rogers as Steve Rogers was to him, and he probably never would be.

Life was infinitely unfair like that.

Kicking himself out of the dark mood before it threatened to storm all over him and ruin his day, he grabbed his laptop and opened Twitter, liking dozens of tweets and messaging a couple of people who’d talked about meeting up at some point during the day, something else he was looking forward to. He was a little bit of a hermit, and didn’t make friends easily, so it was nice to bond over shared interests.

He checked his tickets again, made sure he had them screenshotted on his phone in case his data wasn’t working, and checked the con schedule for any last minute changes. It all looked good, and he’d memorised the map of the building, so he knew exactly where to beeline to and when.

He hoped it’d be a good day, even if Steve Rogers didn’t fall in love with him. Nat would make it fun, for sure, with her dry sarcastic wit and the way she knew how to make him forget himself and just exist. It’d been a long time coming, and he was grateful for it.

He wondered if maybe he was a little bit of a project to her, but then again, if he was, then it was kindness on her part. Maybe they were two kindred souls, a little lost, a little different, drifting together like magnets and then holding firm.

He liked that.

He also liked to think that perhaps he was a steadying influence on her too, and while she’d never admit it, finding someone else who didn’t, or couldn’t conform to society’s standards of gender or sexuality was always a relief, and so they had a quiet, unspoken clique of two, them against the world, something few people could understand.

She let him be soft and gentle around his edges, he allowed her to be hard and sharp around her edges. They created a yin and yang, balancing each other out, and there was a great deal of comfort to be found in that.

As if summoned, he heard the familiar sound of her key in the lock, and then she was sweeping in, a rolled khaki bag under one arm, her hair buzzed shorter than he’d ever seen it before, her makeup making her look more fox-like than human. Her clothes were black, different shades and textures of black that layered up more like armour than fabric. She set the bag down and he smiled before gathering her into a hug, allowing her to bristle for a moment before resting her head against his shoulder.

He ran a hand over her prickly scalp, loving the feel of it.

“I like it,” he said, and if there was doubt in her eyes (never, except maybe, only for him), it vanished in an instant.

She stepped back from him and let her eyes rake up and down his body, and nodded her approval.

“You look good, Barnes. But I can make you look even better.”

And he knew she would.

She called out to his Amazon Echo to load up a Spotify playlist she’d carefully curated, and set to work, sitting him crosslegged on the floor and kneeling behind him, taking small strands of his hair and working them intricately into impossible patterns, adding golden rings and beads as she saw fit, weaving in coloured extensions, until he looked more like a goddess than anything human. He watched in the dusty mirror leaning against the wall opposite as she worked, watching how her tongue stuck out as she concentrated, the careful furrow of her brow.

After what could have been forever, it was hard to tell, she told him to close his eyes and dowsed him in a liberal amount of hairspray, before turning him around to start on his makeup.

It seemed as though she had a set of makeup and tools devoted just to him, because he knew she’d never use half of these colours or products on herself. He loved her for that, the way she let him take up space in her life.

He closed his eyes as she began patting different lotions and potions and pigments onto his face, the lightness and swiftness of her fingers a gentle patter against his skin.

He felt the tug of the eyeliner pencil over his eyelids, and then the smudging of the line as she made him look just that little bit grungier, that little bit more dangerous. She slicked colour over his lips and reddened his cheeks with blush, adding glitter and highlight to already enviable cheekbones and mascara to lashes that could make a man worry, and then worry some more.

She finished off with setting spray, leaving him dewy and fresh, before producing a hand mirror so he could take it all in.

She’d done his makeup before, more times than he could count, but this time, his breath hitched in his throat as he looked at himself. Every hidden part of him too afraid to crawl into the light of day, every secret wish and desire for how he wished he could look, it was all revealed and revealed beautifully, _he_ was beautiful and he was perfect and he was unstoppable. Powerful.

He wanted to cry, but he didn’t want to ruin his makeup. He settled for a watery smile instead.

“Thank you,” he said, too sincere, perhaps, because she just shrugged as though it was nothing at all.

“I feel like some kind of weapon,” he said, because he did, aim him and fire, because he would knock people dead. “I feel like you forged me to cut diamond.”

“Urgh,” she said, rolling her eyes, “writers.”

**@BuckyBarnes: I look like I could stab a man and they would thank me for it. Brooklyn Con, I’m coming for you.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the convention! zombies! @BuckyBarnes: fuck.
> 
> You can find me, as always, at jbbarnes.tumblr.com, or @smallreprieves on Twitter or Instagram. Also, I have a book, it's called How To Be Autistic and it's been out nearly six months now, which is insane. 
> 
> I hope you're doing and feeling well. Love and peace to you all. xx
> 
> ETA 29/4/20: NOW WITH ART BY jaybrogers.tumblr.com BY THE AMAZING @jesuisgrace (AO3): https://jaybrogers.tumblr.com/post/616756629930655744/commission-for-eusuntgratie-based-on-jbbarnes


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve meet.

Bucky and Nat emerged from the subway onto a street writhing with people, of all walks of life, some dressed up in incredible costumes that must have taken months to put together. They shuffled forward in the tide of bodies, catching a glimpse of the huge banners advertising the convention and pointing the way, Steve’s face on them, those stubborn blue eyes staring out over the crowd.

It doesn’t ease up any when they got to the building proper, there were just so many people that Bucky found it hard to catch his breath. He felt Nat’s fingers intertwine with his and is thankful for it, holding on to that warmth like a small protective bubble.

They showed their tickets and ID, and put on their lanyards, and walked into what looks like organised chaos – there are booths and stalls and displays and people everywhere, Bucky couldn’t seem to rest his eyes on any one thing for more than a second, there’s too much to look at and try to take in. It’s ridiculous, it’s insane, it’s _brilliant_. Nat pulled him aside, finding space amongst the throng, and looked at the guide they’d been handed along with their lanyards. Bucky’s VIP autograph isn’t for another hour yet, and then his photo ops aren’t for a couple more after that, so they had some time to kill.

“You don’t want to buy anything just yet,” Nat said, flicking through the guide idly, looking for all the world like she belonged there, like this is just another day. “You don’t want to be carrying stuff around with you all day.”

Bucky nodded, he hadn’t thought of that. He’d wanted to head straight for Artist’s Alley, but now he was thankful that he didn’t.

“There’s a Walking Dead experience in one of the smaller halls,” Nat said, pointing at a photograph of a zombie on the page, its arms outstretched.

“Nobody watches The Walking Dead anymore,” Bucky scoffed, because seriously, who even did?

“Exactly, the queues shouldn’t be too long.”

So Nat dragged him to the zombie maze, where Bucky spent a frantic twenty five minutes dodging blood, guts and grasping hands, shooting a modified laser gun at zombies. He emerged more sweaty than he’d have liked, whilst Nat looked effortlessly perfect, as always, and seemed almost eager to go again.

“You enjoyed that way too much,” he said, as she reluctantly handed back the gun to the volunteer.

She smirked, and reached up to swipe a stray drop of fake blood from his cheek. She patted him on the face gently, before looping her elbow through his and guiding him towards the security guarded autograph area, which was all walled booths and long, winding queues.

Nat couldn’t come with him, because she didn’t have a VIP pass, so she gave his hand a quick squeeze, and he walked through the metal detector alone, checked the queue number, and, with legs that felt more wobbly than he’d like, he found a place to wait, just behind two girls who seemed to be alternately screaming and crying with excitement. He could relate. His heart was beating faster than he’d ever felt before, like it could beat right out of his chest. Give him the zombies any day, this was far more terrifying. He pulled out his phone and checked his reflection in the camera, his hair and makeup had survived the zombies, and after adjusting his top slightly, he felt he’d done the best he could do.

More people were queuing behind him now, and he checked his phone, there were ten minutes to go before Steve would start signing autographs. There were a lot of people here, and the empty queue still snaked for metres and metres behind him, anticipating more. And this was just the first VIP group. There was no way Steve Rogers would remember him amongst all of this.

The girls in front of him were taking selfies now, and one of them turned to speak to him, and asked if he’d take a photo for them. He happily obliged, and after he did so, she complimented his outfit. He did the same for her – it was only polite. She was wearing a shirt with a quote from one of Steve’s more popular movies on it, written in huge letters across her chest. He felt like perhaps he had misjudged his outfit entirely. Maybe he should have leaned more into fandom attire.

A hubbub started behind him, and Bucky stood on his tiptoes to look – Steve Rogers was walking down the line, flanked by two security guards, and _god_ , he looked good. He was dressed in the white blouse Bucky had seen him buying at the store, and had paired it with high-waisted brown pants that made his legs look far longer than they actually were, and god help him, suspenders, that teased the semi-sheer blouse and made the whole thing look practically indecent.

Bucky fumbled with his phone to grab a photo as Steve passed by, but all he got was the back of his head, golden, the top layers growing in longer, and underneath, the hint of an undercut, perhaps?

It’d been seconds, but the queue was alive now, a living creature, and people were pressing in tighter now, desperate to get closer to the front, closer to Steve.

Bucky’s chest tightened. He kind of wanted to just run away.

A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed it down. He could do this. He _could_.

A ripple ran through the line as the first few people were ushered forward. Bucky couldn’t quite see, but Steve must be in his booth, sitting behind a desk, and Bucky expected there would be a selection of 8x10s to choose from.

The line moved forward in jolting increments, and Bucky shuffled his feet forward with it. He ran what he wanted to say over and over in his head. From the bag hooked over his arm, he took out the book, _his book_ , which he’d written in for Steve, a thank you, a gift, literally the least he could do to show his gratitude.

One of the corners of the front cover had gotten a little creased, and he’d wished he’d brought the hardback instead, but the paperback’s cover was prettier, and besides, he didn’t want Steve to have to lug a hardback book home in his luggage.

Bucky wondered if Steve kept the gifts he was given, or whether he would just throw them away as soon as he was out of sight. People had made fanart of Bucky’s book, and he’d kept every piece of it, even framing some of it, but it wasn’t quite the same. Steve would undoubtedly receive dozens of gifts today, and he had to get them all back to Ireland.

He’d probably throw them away. Or donate them.

As much as the black mood threatened to engulf him, the excitement of being so close to Steve, only maybe a dozen people away now, lifted him, and he tried the deep breathing techniques Nat had tried to teach him, letting his stomach expand as he breathed in. He shifted the book from hand to hand, nervous, his tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth.

Finally, he could see Steve, and a volunteer ushered him forward, handing him a post-it note to write his name on and stick to the 8x10 photo he chose. He stared at the photos for a long time, trying to pick the one that most encapsulated Steve, most of them were of his characters and not of him, eventually picking one that must have been an outtake from a photo shoot, because Bucky had never seen it before, but had seen similar ones, possibly in Vogue? Steve was wearing a long tan jacket with the collar up, razor sharp cheekbones peeking out over it, and was looking out from under his eyelashes at the camera, blond hair mussed and windswept, the background some anonymous crag by the sea.

Bucky picked it up and stuck his post-it to it. He juggled it with the book in his hands, trying to keep hold of everything without getting sweaty fingerprints on any of it.

He was maybe two or three people away now, and he could make out every detail of Steve’s features, the way he spoke gently and easily with every person he met, his eyes crinkling with amusement and joy when they said something funny, even reaching across the table to hug someone, despite the nearest security guard stepping forward to stop him.

Three people became two people became one person became Bucky.

Bucky stood in front of Steve Rogers, all his eloquent speeches forgotten, the 8x10 and his book in his hand, and Steve raised his head to greet him, and that perfect red mouth, beginning to smile, instead became a small ‘o’ of surprise.

“Hi,” Steve said, warmly, looking Bucky up and down in obvious appreciation. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Bucky didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. Instead, he just sort of dropped the book on the table, nudging it towards Steve.

Steve looked down at it, and then smiled widely.

“Oh, I love this book! It’s one of my favourites. You know, I’d kill to play Jonathan if they made it into a film, I think he’s one of the most nuanced characters I’ve ever read. Is this for me?”

Bucky nodded, words still stuck in his throat. Steve made an aborted move to reach across the table for Bucky’s hand, before seeming to think better of it. Instead, he smiled warmly at Bucky again, before gently taking the 8x10 from Bucky’s shaking hand, his grip loose.

“Bucky?” He asked, reading the post-it. “I like that.”

He signed the 8x10, writing something that Bucky’s eyes were too blurred to read, and handed it back.

“It was really nice to meet you,” Steve said, “again.”

Bucky nodded, and it looked like Steve wanted to say more, but the person behind Bucky in the queue was being ushered forward, excitement gleaming off them. Bucky stepped away, the security guard’s eyes on him.

His hand clenched on the 8x10, crumpling it slightly.

He found Nat again in a daze, and she managed to get him to a seat before he started to cry.

**@BuckyBarnes: fuck.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very aware of the situation in the world right now, and how the idea of a convention going ahead is sort of crazy right now. So you're all invited to Brooklyn Con! Comment with the MCU guest you'd love to meet the most!
> 
> Steve's 8x10 looks like this, but in colour: https://imgur.com/a/HWwhjGC (I always imagined Luke Newberry would make a good modern day pre-serum Steve)
> 
> Steve is wearing a mix of these: https://imgur.com/a/uyMXDzG
> 
> Comments would be really greatly appreciated, I imagine we're all going a bit stir crazy right now. I'm also taking prompts on my tumblr at jbbarnes.tumblr.com - the fluffier the better. Please, nothing virus-related though. 
> 
> Next chapter: "You look beautiful."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please check the end notes for potential triggers! Bucky isn't very nice to themselves in this chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the end notes for potential triggers! Bucky isn't very nice to themselves in this chapter!

“Tell me,” Nat said, cradling Bucky’s face against her chest, shielding him from the world.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Bucky replied, his voice catching on the tiny sobs still shivering through him.

She patted his hair, careful not to mess it up more than he already had.

“It’s okay,” she calmed him, “just tell me what happened. Was he cruel to you?”

Bucky shook his head against her.

“No. No, that’s not it. He was – perfect. I – I looked at him and I couldn’t say a damn word. I fucked it up again.”

“It’s not your fault,” Nat said, rubbing his back now, easing the tension in his muscles.

“I knew what I was going to say. I’ve known for weeks. This was my one chance. And I blew it. I ruined it. I hate myself.”

She hushed him, pulling him closer to her.

“Nobody talks like that about my best friend,” she said, and he smiled despite himself.

“I love you,” he said, and she pretended to try to push him away. “I think, I don’t know, I sort of expected too much. Or – I don’t know. Something. Anything. He remembered me. He’s read my book. Isn’t that weird?”

“Barnes. Unpack what you just said to me, could you?” Nat asked, voice curious, pushing slightly.

Bucky didn’t say anything for a few seconds, thinking.

“He remembered me. He’s read my book. Oh. _Oh_.”

“Oh, indeed. Have you even looked at what he wrote?”

Bucky shook his head. He let Nat take the 8x10 from him and smooth it out.

Bucky had assumed it’d be something generic, something bland, impersonal.

What Nat read out was far from that.

“ _Dear Bucky, you look so beautiful. I wanted to tell you the other day. Steve._ ”

“The fuck?” Bucky said, snatching the photo from Nat and peering at it, tracing the words, reading and re-reading them until the letters stopped making sense. “He called me beautiful.”

“Well, he has eyes then,” Nat said, and nudged him.

“Is he allowed to write that? Here?” Bucky wondered, more to himself than anything.

“I don’t think Steve Rogers cares much about what he’s _allowed_ to do,” Nat mused.

“What do I do with this?” Bucky asked.

“What do you want to do with it? How does it make you feel?”

“Scared,” Bucky said after a few seconds. “Like he might actually be a real person. I always knew he was, but it was abstract. Safer, to love him when he was unattainable. Now how can I say I love him when he’s _real_? When he might – want me? How do I deal with that? What do I do?”

“You don’t have to do anything. He’s in a position of power, and I think you need to acknowledge that. But at the same time, he’s ceded some of that power to you, by writing that, I think. He must know how that could look if it got out. If you leaked it. But that could be a game too. Seeing how far you’d go to protect him. I’ll fix your makeup, and then we’ll get food. You’ve got an hour before the photo ops, and there’s no pressure for you to even go to them. We could leave right now, if you wanted to.”

“I want to stay,” Bucky said decisively. “I don’t think he’s playing games. He could have anyone in this building, with the right words to the right person, and he’d never have to risk outing himself. He could play it so much safer.”

“He’s not outing himself if he’s with you, Bucky,” Nat said softly, using his first name. She never used his first name, not ever.

Bucky shook his head.

“You know that’s not how it works. People are always going to look at me and see a man. A freak. Dressed in the wrong clothes. And maybe I can get away with it here, and I can get away with it when we go dancing, but in the real world? When it actually matters? If people found out he’d written that, to me, dressed like this, they’d never accept it as anything other than a gay relationship. They don’t get – you know they don’t get it. That there’s more to it than that. Maybe Steve Rogers is queer, maybe he doesn’t care who knows. Maybe he’s never bothered to come out. But being with me? It’s going to be seen as him dating a man. And I don’t know if I can deal with that.”

“You’re not a freak. Any more than I am. You’re just you. And I like who you are. And I really wish you liked who you were too,” Nat said gently.

“I’m trying,” Bucky sniffed, trying not to cry again. “I really am. I mean, look at me. I couldn’t have worn this a year ago, I wouldn’t have dared. You know better than anyone that when you’ve been told to be one thing your entire life – that’s not easy to just shrug off.”

“We’re going to talk about this when we get home, but right now you need to make a decision. Are we definitely staying?” Nat asked. Bucky nodded. “Then I need to fix your makeup. Come on, they have gender neutral bathrooms here. See? Someone’s on our team.”

“We’re our own team,” Bucky said, defiant.

“Maybe so. But we can always do with reinforcements. Allies, I suppose.”

“You really think he likes me?” Bucky asked, as Nat pulled him to his feet.

“I can’t speak for him, but he’d be a fool not to,” Nat said, and gathered Bucky close to her, herding him to the bathroom.

They found the bathroom with ease, dodging through people, and a kind couple took one look at Bucky and let him and Nat go ahead in the queue, allowing them to slip into the bathroom and for Bucky to look in the mirror under the harsh artificial lights for the first time.

He looked a mess, his makeup all but ruined. All that remained was the bright stain of red on his lips.

“I don’t think you can fix this,” he said, but Nat was already reaching into her bag for makeup wipes. She made him sit on the sink counter, and standing between his spread legs, she reached up and wiped his face clean, his eyes closed as he felt the cool of it washing away the salt of his tears and the mess of the different colours.

“I can fix anything,” she murmured, and he smiled a little. Soon she was reapplying makeup with ease, practised brush strokes making him beautiful once more, like dragging kisses on his skin.

“How did you know? To bring all of this?” He asked.

“You were always going to cry,” she said, not mockingly, just honest. “And I can’t have my best friend looking a mess in public.”

“I’m glad we’re friends,” Bucky said.

“Hush now,” Nat said, and swept the lipstick over his lips, emboldening the colour once more. “He was right you know, you are beautiful. Don’t you see that?”

Bucky turned to look over his shoulder and into the mirror. Maybe he saw it, sometimes, with his face covered and painted. When Nat had made him look like a different person, perhaps. But day to day? Never.

“You’ll see it one day,” Nat said. “And then I’ll say _I told you so_. You’re all done, anyway. There’s not much I can do for your hair, but it’s pretty much held up. Shall we eat?”

Bucky shook his head.

“You can get something, but I don’t think I could eat right now. I think I might just go wait by the photo ops area. It’s not long now.”

Nat looked conflicted.

“If that’s what you want,” she said finally. “Give me your bag, I’ll look after it. You won’t want it in the photos.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said, thanking her for so much more than just the offer she’d made.

“Remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Nat said, and patted him on the knee, before moving aside so he could jump down.

“What if I do want to?” He asked.

“You still don’t have to do it. I know you think you owe him something, but you don’t. You saved yourself. You keep saving yourself. Every day. You don’t owe him anything. Don’t you dare do something just because you think you owe it to him.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. And meant it.

If anything happened, and maybe the potential was there, more than he’d realised, then he’d make sure it was on his terms. Steve Rogers may be his hero, but Steve Rogers was also just a man, human just as much as Bucky was, and just as fallible. Bucky was starting to see that now. Starting to really understand the videos he’d watched on para-social relationships. Starting to see Steve as the stranger he really was.

And Bucky didn’t hook up with strangers. Not even ones who called him beautiful.

Steve Rogers would have to prove himself, just like anyone else.

**@BuckyBarnes: Whoever bet on me having a meltdown, your prize will be in the mail within three working days.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POTENTIAL TRIGGERS: Bucky talks about dating as a nonbinary person, and the misgendering that comes with that. Specifically, Bucky worries that if they were to date Steve, it'd be seen as a gay relationship, and that Bucky would be made fun of for wearing the 'wrong' clothes. This might not be a universal experience, this is just written from my own experience - that horrible realisation that no matter what I do, if I date a guy, it'll always be seen as a straight relationship, and I'll always be seen as 'the girl', which eats my brain sometimes. So Bucky's dysphoria is this but reversed, if that makes sense? 
> 
> ***
> 
> Sorry, I think that's the only big trigger warning we're going to have. I wanted this chapter to sort of... allow Bucky to figure out that Steve is just a person, and if he wants to date Bucky, he has to be a Good person at that. Which... I think Steve will manage. ;)
> 
> Next chapter: photo ops and new friends. I really hope you're going to like these original characters, I know I do (and Bucky does!).
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at jbbarnes.tumblr.com, please send me prompts or asks or literally anything, I've been inside for over a month now and everything is horrible. My Instagram and Twitter is @smallreprieves, but I'm thinking of maybe making a fandom only one, so we'll see? 
> 
> And yeah, when I wrote this, the idea of a large amount of people gathering was not weird. Now, it seems very weird and downright dangerous. Stay safe, and keep quarantine. Take care. xx


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updating a day early for Trans Day of Visibility.
> 
> Photo ops and new friends. 
> 
> Slight trigger warning for one of Bucky's new friends insinuating that she feels too fat to wear a particular outfit.

Because his photo op tickets weren’t VIP, the area was a lot more crowded already than the autograph queue had been. Small curtained off box rooms stood at one end of the room, and taped lines with painted numbers separated the masses from them. People were looking anxiously at their tickets, then at the constantly updating schedule board, before nodding, and then checking again. Bucky found himself doing the same thing. When he was certain he was in the right place, he headed for his line, and like most everyone else, sat down on the cold floor in the queue, still twenty minutes to go.

In front of him was a mother and a daughter, and the daughter was dressed in a Batman outfit with black fairy wings. She kept pulling funny faces at Bucky over her mother’s shoulder and giggling. Bucky stuck his tongue out back at her. The girl covered her face bashfully, and the mother turned around to see what all the fuss was about.

“Oh, hello,” she said, “this is Lila, I’m Katie. You look ever so nervous, darling.”

“Are you scared?” Lila asked, and Katie hushed her.

“A little,” Bucky said to both of them.

“I was scared too!” Lila announced, seeming proud of it. “But Mom said that Stevie is just a person, and I’m a person too, and that you shouldn’t be scared of people just because they’re famous!”

“That’s quite right,” Katie said, nodding to Lila. Then to Bucky, “She’s a really big fan. I don’t know much about this convention business, but she seemed pretty adamant that she wanted to be here.” Katie shrugged. “I must say, you look ever so pretty. Your makeup is gorgeous. And that top – I wish I had the body to wear something like that.”

Bucky blushed, but smiled. Katie wasn’t anything other than ordinary, her body was fine, and even if she’d been three hundred pounds, he still would have told her the same:

“You do.”

She laughed softly.

“That’s very kind, but when you have a seven year old clawing at you all day it’s probably safer not to wear anything too revealing. But maybe you could tell me where you bought it, anyway?”

Bucky did, and soon he found himself lost in conversation with Katie and Lila, carried away by their easy enthusiasm and Lila’s confidence. He almost forgot why he was there at all, and could have happily talked with them for hours.

The sound of people standing up around them jolted him out of whatever he’d been about to say, and Katie looked around.

“This is it, sweet pea,” she said to Lila. “You got that smile all ready for Stevie?”

Lila gave her a gap toothed smile.

“Perfect!” Katie said, full of love. She turned to Bucky, who was getting to his feet. “And I want a smile from you, too, lovely. And to check in with you afterwards, okay?”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Bucky said, shaking his head.

“I’m a mom, it’s what I do. And you looked a little lost back there.”

The line started to move, the photos each taking mere seconds, and Lila squealed excitedly.

“Mommy, Stevie!” She said, very high pitched.

“Yes, darling. Well, I’ll see you on the other side, okay?” She smiled at Bucky, and he smiled back, genuine. Whatever happened, he would definitely find Katie and Lila afterwards. Lila would love Nat.

Before long, he was at the curtain, and could see Steve, and the way he listened as people explained the pose they wanted, or showed it to him on their phones. He’d pose, shake their hands, and thank them, and it all took less than thirty seconds.

A volunteer checked his tickets.

“I have two,” he said, though she could see that.

“That’s okay, I’ll tell the photographer. Don’t look so scared. He’s only human.”

“Why does everyone keep telling me that today?” Bucky asked.

He watched as Lila’s turn came around and Katie stood off to the side as Steve gathered her up into a big hug, bending down slightly so their faces were level. The photographer knelt down, and Steve told Lila to smile, though she definitely didn’t need to be told. The flash went, and someone yelled ‘Next!’, and Steve looked up, and locked eyes with Bucky, before grinning.

Bucky had had poses in mind, but even though he knew Steve was just a person, he was struggling to articulate them. They seemed too intimate now, and to buy that kind of intimacy seemed wrong, somehow.

“You okay?” Steve said in a low tone. Bucky nodded. “How about we do an awkward prom pose, and go from there?” Steve asked, and took Bucky’s hand gently, entwining their fingers and facing them both towards the camera. Bucky couldn’t help but smile as Steve looked up at him, and Steve squeezed his hand just a little, surprising Bucky, forcing out a wider smile as the flash went.

“And a hug?” Steve asked. “Is that okay?”

Bucky had really wanted a hug pose, so for Steve to be the one to propose it felt less invasive. He nodded again.

“Okay, here, what if I rest my head on your chest, just so?” Steve asked, moving their bodies into position, taking gentle control as the rest of the room waited impatiently. Bucky could feel everyone’s eyes on him, wanting him to get on with it so everyone else could have their photos taken already.

Steve’s hand brushed Bucky’s bare waist, and Bucky felt his skin immediately begin to goosebump.

“Sorry,” Steve muttered, “I promise that was an accident.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky managed to find his voice.

“Can we hurry this up please?” A bored voice came from across the small makeshift room. Steve winked at Bucky, reassuring him.

“You ready?” He asked, and Bucky nodded. “Just rest your head over mine, I think that’ll look good. And if you want to put your hand around my waist?” Bucky did, glad to have permission.

“And smile,” Steve whispered, so only Bucky could hear. Bucky did, forgetting everything but Steve’s warm body against his. He knew it was all make believe, but in that moment, Steve’s words felt real.

The camera flashed, and someone shouted next, and Steve reached to shake Bucky’s hand, the touch holding Bucky in place.

“I shouldn’t do this – I know this puts you in an awkward situation. But if you want to, I’d love to get coffee with you. Maria, she’s just over there – if you want, you can give her your number and she’ll make sure it gets to me. I don’t want to pressure you, but Bucky, I’d really like to get to know you,” Steve said, voice hushed and low, sincere and without any demand in it.

Bucky nodded.

“Okay,” he said, and someone shouted ‘Next!’ again, and Steve let go of his hand. He headed for the woman Steve had pointed out.

She looked him up and down.

“If you hurt him,” she said, and shook her head. Bucky, hurt Steve? He wouldn’t. Surely it could only be the other way around.

She took his number as he stammered it out, calling him and hanging up just to check it was correct.

“He doesn’t do this,” Maria said. “He’s not one of _those_. He must really like you. So allow me to repeat: don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t,” Bucky said, and with one long look back at Steve, posing happily with a cosplayer, he left the strange curtained box room.

Outside, Katie and Lila were waiting, Lila bouncing up and down with excitement.

“We thought we’d lost you there,” Katie smiled. “Wasn’t so bad after all, hmm?”

“I wanna see my photo!” Lila interrupted.

“Let’s go get them,” Katie said, gathering Lila to her, and ushering Bucky to her side. “See? Just a person, like I said.”

Bucky nodded, replaying what Steve had said to him. It hadn’t been cheap, or something throw away. Steve could have given him a hotel room number or something easy like that. Getting coffee? That was something else. Conversation. Spending time together. Existing in each other’s space. It wasn’t sex. At least, it wasn’t just sex. It was beginnings, and hope, and all that came with it. It was the idea of knowing someone, and being known.

When they reached the long line of tables with the photos all printed and laid out, Bucky scanned desperately to find his. And when he did, he saw someone he barely recognised. It was him, but he was happy. Really and truly happy. And the smile on Steve’s face reached all the way up to his eyes, eyes that were fixed on Bucky even when he should have been looking straight at the camera.

“I’m sorry about that one,” said the man behind the table, “you can get it redone if you’re quick.”

“No,” Bucky said, “it’s perfect.”

**@BuckyBarnes: Shout out to Katie and Lila, for calming me down when I needed it most. Lila, you’re a real superhero.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd update a day early for TDOV, it seemed kinda important given Bucky's journey through this story.
> 
> Every time I update this and people are, you know, outside and talking to each other, it feels more and more alien and strange. What a weird time to be alive.
> 
> I really hope you like Katie and Lila, I just wanted to give Bucky someone to talk to who wasn't Nat, and to just... love on Bucky a little. 
> 
> Next chapter: Steve does a panel and makes an announcement. 
> 
> You can find me at jbbarnes.tumblr.com or @smallreprieves on Twitter or Instagram, though mostly tumblr lately because it's easier to blacklist all the horrible stuff going on in the world. I'm taking prompts, the fluffier and more ridiculous the better! Send 'em over.
> 
> I hope you like this chapter. I was so worried about writing Steve and it being seen as him abusing his privilege and position, but I think it's a lot more equal now that Bucky's got their head around Steve being a Real Person. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! I try to reply to all of them alarmingly quickly. <333


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's panel, and maybe, a surprise.

Bucky found Nat waiting for him just outside the photo ops area, and proudly introduced Katie and Lila to her.

“I like your hair!” Lila said, and Nat bent down so that Lila could stroke it.

Katie watched, and smiled.

“Your friend,” she said quietly to Bucky, “she’s like you, isn’t she? Sorry, I don’t know the right terms.”

Bucky would never out someone without their consent, but Nat had given him blanket permission to do so where he thought it was safe to do so, so he nodded.

“Sort of. But it’s more complicated than that. She doesn’t really – see herself as anything, gender-wise, but I – I guess I really like femininity and all that involves. I’m not female, I don’t think, I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out,” Bucky stumbled over his words a little, but Katie’s face was kind, patient.

“I look at Lila sometimes, and some of the things she says, it wouldn’t surprise me, you know? I’m almost waiting for the day she figures it out. I don’t know what I’ll say to her on that day.”

Bucky looked at Lila, with her Batman outfit and black fairy wings, laughing as Nat pulled a funny face and scrunched her nose up.

“I think she’ll be just fine. Whoever she decides she is,” Bucky said, “just love her, won’t you? No matter what?”

“Of course,” Katie said, staring at Lila, then looking back at Bucky. “How could I not?”

“You’d be surprised,” Bucky said, honestly. “But talk to Nat, she’ll know where you can find more information if you ever need to support Lila – she works with gender non-conforming children as a counsellor. And maybe I could give you my number, if you ever want to talk?”

Katie smiled wider, and pulled Bucky into a hug.

“You’re so good, you know that?” She said, muffled against his neck. “Thank you.”

Bucky looked over at Lila and Nat, and felt hopeful. Whatever happened, whatever Lila decided, she had a mother who would love her unconditionally. The world was changing, and maybe Lila would be allowed to grow up unafraid of who she might be.

“Now,” Katie said, pulling away. “Show me those photos of you and your boy.”

Bucky blushed, but handed over the photo op photos.

“He’s not my boy,” he said.

“A mom’s job is to earwig you know, Bucky. And I wanted to make sure you weren’t getting yourself into any trouble.”

She looked at the photos and gasped in delight. Nat came over to join them, and Lila, of course, demanded to see them too.

“Are you married?!” Lila exclaimed. “Mommy, Bucky is married to Stevie!”

“Darling, they’re just photos. Though I don’t think Bucky would complain,” she said, casting a glance at Bucky, who pointedly looked away, unable to stop from smiling.

“I don’t think he would,” Nat added. “The way he’s looking at you, Barnes. That’s something else.”

“It might be nothing,” Bucky said, but then couldn’t help but add, “he did ask for my phone number though. To get coffee.”

There was a murmur of excitement as Nat and Katie (and Lila, though she was joining in rather than fully comprehending the situation) broke into excited discussions about what this could mean.

Bucky let it wash over him, for the first time not trying to imagine the future in too much detail. If he and Steve got coffee, then they would be doing so as tentative friends, as two people who didn’t really know each other at all. Maybe Steve had read Bucky’s note he’d left on the inside cover of his book, maybe Steve knew that Bucky was the author by now. And Steve was a fan. That put them on slightly more equal footing, perhaps.

Steve was more human in Bucky’s eyes now, and Bucky wanted to get to know that human. And it felt like a privilege, certainly, to perhaps learn more about Steve than anyone else on his Twitter feed ever would. But at the same time, it felt like something he should keep safe, private, something he didn’t want to blurt out to the world. Steve had trusted him with this, and that counted for something.

“Oh gosh,” Katie said, interrupting his thoughts, “we’re going to miss Steve’s panel if we don’t get a move on!”

“I want to ask Stevie a question!” Lila said, excited.

“We better hurry then!” Katie said, gathering Lila to her. She turned to look at Bucky and Nat. “Are you two coming?”

They exchanged a quick glance before nodding.

“Yay!” Lila said, and swung around so she could hold Nat’s hand too.

Luckily they were still pretty early for the panel and managed to get seats close to the front. Katie left to submit Lila’s question, and Bucky checked his phone battery to make sure he could get some photos. It felt weird now, because there might be a time in his future when he could have photos of Steve whenever he wanted, but in case that never happened, he wanted to be able to remember today, and the kindness everyone had shown him.

More people took their seats, and Katie came back, and Lila shuffled onto her lap as she sat down. The stage lit up, and the interviewer walked on, to applause. He introduced himself, before calling Steve onto the stage, and if the applause had been loud before, it was deafening now, with people wolf-whistling and cheering. Steve waved a hand, slightly bemused by the whole thing, and sat down opposite the interviewer.

“So, Steve, this is your first convention, how are you finding it?” The interviewer asked, and Steve smiled, looking out over the audience, as if he was searching for someone in particular.

“I’ve never done anything like this before, as you know, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. But it’s been amazing, I’ve met so many brilliant people, seen some amazing cosplays, and some beautiful art. It’s felt like such an honour to get to meet you all and hear your stories and learn about your lives. I wish I’d done it years ago.”

The audience aww’d that statement, and people started to applaud, but the interviewer calmed them down again.

“So the accent, it’s really real then?”

“Oh, yes, you know, I was worried nobody would be able to understand me today! My Uber driver asked if I was Australian,” Steve pulled a face, then smiled, “no offence of course, but I don’t think I’d last five minutes in the Australian sun! I get freckles so easily.”

Bucky knew about Steve’s freckles. Had obsessed about them. He knew he would like any fic if it mentioned Steve’s character’s freckles. Now, though, it felt like learning about them for the first time, as though the Steve he’d built in his head was entirely divorced from the Steve Rogers that dominated his online time.

“Now, we have a question from the audience – Jessica, are you out there? Ah, there she is, can we get a mic to Jessica?”

“Hi,” Jessica said, then giggled, “sorry. I’m really nervous. I was just wondering. How did you feel when you didn’t win the Oscar?”

Steve thought for a few seconds before replying.

“You know what? It sounds daft but it didn’t really bother me all that much. The Oscars are a very particular breed of award, and they celebrate a very specific type of film and acting. They protect people who perhaps shouldn’t be protected, and don’t celebrate films that should be raised up. As a white man, I feel like my nomination, as nice as it was, could have gone to someone more deserving. I’m really happy with the film I made, and the story I got to tell, and as a queer person myself, it definitely informed my acting choices. So it was personal to me. But the fact that the film found an audience, and that audience found themselves in it, that matters more than any award ever would.”

The audience had broken out into flurries of whispered conversations and then a steady wave of applause began to rumble through, and Steve blushed as people began to whoop and cheer.

Nat shot a sharp look at Bucky. Besides her, Katie grinned at him.

“Can you tell us a little about your identity, Steve?” The interviewer asked, and Bucky thought, _well, that’s not a great question_ , and the audience seemed to rumble again in agreement with Bucky’s thoughts but Steve took it in his stride.

“I’ve never spoken about this before, not because I had anything to hide, but because I didn’t think it was a big deal anymore. But after meeting so many people today, and receiving letters from people who tell me the film gave them the courage to be themselves, I thought – maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I should be talking about it. I have this platform, and representation matters. It’d be easy to pretend I was a straight actor playing gay, but the truth is, and always has been, that I’m queer, and that I’m comfortable with that, and I know that admitting that could hurt my career – but dammit, I’ve met people today who are braver and stronger than I will ever be. I’m in a position where I can afford to speak out, and I think it’s about time I do. Queer lives deserve recognition, on screen and in the media. I’m only sorry I didn’t do this sooner.”

The applause was wild, and people cheered and whistled again. Bucky found himself clapping and grinning uncontrollably. It took a good couple of minutes for the audience to calm again.

The interviewer looked a little taken aback, and seemed at a little bit of a loss, before recovering enough to ask another question:

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Steve looked out into the audience, still searching, and finally found Bucky. He looked directly at Bucky as he answered the question.

“I’d like to be.”

**@BuckyBarnes: I’m in awe of @SteveRogers courage. The room was full of love and respect as he came out. And don’t get me started on his comments about the Oscars.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. So I just want to say that Steve coming out does not in ANY WAY invalidate Bucky's identity. I was so worried about putting this chapter up in case it was read that way. I (personally) don't think you need to be queer to date a nonbinary person, I think we just don't have the necessary language to describe what that dating experience necessarily is, or I just haven't stumbled upon it yet. Steve's coming out is for Bucky, that 'shared life experience' - I think anyone who's LGBT+ who finds someone else who's LGBT+ automatically feels some level of kinship because whilst it may have been a different road, they've still had to walk it. I've decided not to label Steve beyond queer at this stage because I genuinely don't know what he identifies as beyond that, except for in a later chapter when (spoiler) he does identify as on the ace-spectrum. I feel like this is something I really want to explore if I write some more ficlets for this AU. ANYWAY, I hope that all makes sense. I didn't want anyone to think I made Steve queer so that it'd be 'acceptable' for him to date Bucky. (Maybe I am overthinking, but I do worry.)
> 
> Another thing: Lila's question! I bet you're wondering what it was! (Probably not!) It was: "Do you know Hozier?" and Steve's answer is, surprisingly, yes, and he's going to be working with Hozier for a video in the future, but don't tell anyone. ;) 
> 
> I'm really creatively blocked at the moment, so would definitely appreciate any prompts over on tumblr at jbbarnes.tumblr.com, and I'm also sort of vaguely on Twitter and Instagram at @smallreprieves. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy, I know these are really weird times. Take care. xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbyes, and hellos.

They waited for the rest of the room to empty before getting out of their seats, Bucky not even sure if his legs would hold him. Everyone around him was exhilarated, and the panel had ended on a high, with people, including Bucky, feeling valid in a way they might not have before. It was a small thing, for an actor to come out as something other than straight, but it would do a lot of good.

Lila leaned over Katie’s lap.

“You should definitely marry Stevie,” she whispered conspiratorially, eyes wide.

“I’m going to try,” Bucky whispered back, still trying to process the way Steve had looked at him when he’d admitted he’d like to be dating someone.

“Can I wear my Batman suit?” Lila asked, and Bucky was confused. She rolled her eyes in a way that seemed far too condescending for a seven year old. “To the wedding, silly! Silly Bucky!”

“I think it’s too soon to be planning anything like that,” Katie stepped in. “Let’s leave Bucky alone now, yeah?”

Lila pouted, but turned and hugged her mom, clinging to her like a limpet.

“I’m tired, mommy.”

“I think it’s time for us to go,” Katie said, “she gets grouchy when she’s tired. Here, can I grab your numbers before I leave? You’ve been ever so helpful.”

She held out her phone, and Nat quickly typed in her and Bucky’s numbers, before handing it back.

“If you need anything,” Nat said, as Katie staggered to her feet under Lila’s dead weight.

“I’ll call you,” Katie promised. “Don’t worry, we’re friends now. And I want to know what happens with Bucky and his young man.”

“He’s not my young man,” Bucky protested, but Nat smirked.

“He wants to be,” she said and Katie nodded her agreement. She waved awkwardly, and walked away, leaving Nat and Bucky alone in the nearly empty room.

“People are, maybe, not entirely terrible,” Nat said after a moment.

“I think so too,” Bucky agreed. They sat in the semi-darkness for a little while longer.

“You want to check out artist’s alley, or do you just want to go home?” Nat asked.

Bucky considered. On the one hand, he’d been looking forward to checking out the merch, but on the other, he was really emotionally exhausted, and he didn’t want to push it any further by having to navigate the crowds.

“I think we can go home now,” he said. “If that’s okay?”

“It’s okay. I may have picked a couple of bits up for you whilst you were in your photo op, anyway.”

“Presents?” Bucky exclaimed, and made grabby hands.

“When we get you home,” Nat said, and grinned.

Bucky stuck out his bottom lip. “Boo.”

“Such a brat,” Nat said, and ruffled his hair, careful not to disturb the braids.

“Only for you,” Bucky said.

They got up from their seats, making sure they hadn’t left anything behind, and made their way to the door. Before Nat pulled the door open, Bucky pulled her to a stop.

“Thank you. For today,” he said. She nodded, and pulled the door open, and the crowds engulfed them again.

They made their way towards the exit, arm in arm, endless streams of people coming from each direction. Though it was later in the day now, the place was still packed. Bucky was glad he’d decided to leave now. It was amazing, but more than a little overwhelming.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk didn’t make much difference, it was still hard to move, the bodies packed tightly around them. Nat took charge and somehow managed to clear a path, using her small body to create enough space for the two of them. When the congestion eased, Bucky took a deep breath, and allowed himself to relax a little. 

The subway was packed with people making their way home from the con, but it was only a few stops before they were back at Bucky’s apartment.

“I’m really tired,” Bucky admittedly, leaning slightly on Nat as they made their way up the steps. “It’s been a very strange day.”

“You should get some rest,” Nat said, unlocking Bucky’s door and ushering him in.

“It’s still light out,” Bucky protested, and then yawned, unable to hold it in.

“You’ll only tie yourself in knots if you try to stay up. Sleep now. Message me when you’ve woken up. We’ll talk then.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said again, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Nat shook her head.

“This could be a beginning. You just have to let it in.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said.

“I think you’re stronger than you realise,” Nat said, and pulled him into a quick hug. “Give yourself some credit.”

She left, leaving a plastic bag of goodies from the con that Bucky would be sure to check out later. But for now, sleep.

He stumbled through to the bedroom, and attempted to extract himself from his jeans before giving up and falling into bed still wearing them. He fell asleep almost immediately, the day’s events washing over him like anaesthesia.

When he woke, it was dark out, and when he checked the time on his nearly dead phone, it was nearly one in the morning. He’d slept for hours, but still felt groggy and off-kilter. He reached for his charger and let his phone ping as it started to charge up, watching the bar empty then fill then empty again.

Eventually, he padded through to the living room, where his bag was half spilled over the rug, the 8x10 with Steve’s writing on visible, the photo op photos glossy behind it.

It felt like some strange dream, like it couldn’t be real. But it was. He ghosted a finger over the gold Sharpie letters, the way Steve had written _beautiful_ , before flicking over to the photo ops, and the way Steve’s blue eyes were so focused on Bucky’s face, looking at Bucky in a way Bucky didn’t realise people _could_ look at him.

Steve was still beautiful, and Bucky felt like maybe he’d always be tongue-tied around him, but he didn’t seem so otherworldly now. Maybe it’d be okay. Maybe Bucky could be a person. Maybe he could be a person with Steve.

Abruptly, he remembered he’d promised to message Nat, and so he headed back to the bedroom, knowing that it wouldn’t be too late, no matter what the time.

There was an unread message from an unknown number at the top of his notifications that hadn’t been there the last time he looked, so he unlocked his phone and slid it open.

 **Unknown Number** : _Hi, Bucky, this is Steve. I realise what I did today put you in an awkward situation and maybe you felt like you couldn’t say no to me. I want you to know that I don’t want to put any pressure on you, and that I want to get to know you. I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and now I know you wrote my favourite book, I feel like maybe that beauty is far more than skin deep. That feels like a line, but I promise it isn’t. If you still want to get coffee, please, message me back. If not, feel free to block me. Xx_

Bucky stared at the message for a long time, before exiting out of it to message Nat. He’d promised, after all. He sent her a short message, thanking her once again, and promising that he was okay. He didn’t tell her about Steve’s message – he wanted to keep it to himself for a little bit longer, something private.

He went back to it, and saved Steve’s number under his contacts. He read the message over and over, until he could think of some way to reply.

Steve had given him an out, if he wanted to take it.

But he didn’t think he did.

**Bucky:** _Hi! It’s really nice to hear from you. I’m sorry I didn’t manage to talk much today, you’re a little intimidating. You must get that a lot. I promise when we get coffee I’ll have words for you, especially now you know I’m a writer. I don’t know how to say this, but a lot of people are really proud of you for what you did today. You’ve changed lives, I’m sure of it. I definitely want to get coffee with you. When are you free? Xx_

His finger hovered over the send button for a long time before he pressed it. He wondered what Steve was doing up still, he couldn’t be jetlagged, not after so long in the country. Maybe he was just a night owl.

His phone vibrated as a new message came through.

 **Steve** : _I want to hear your words. I feel like you’d have a lot to say, and I want to listen to everything you want to tell me. I know a place we can go, where we can be ourselves. I don’t want to presume anything, but you can dress how you want and nobody will judge you there. Are you free tomorrow, say 1pm? Xx_

Attached to the message was a location pin for a small coffee shop Bucky had never heard of, about twenty minutes away from his apartment. It’d be easy to get to. After a quick Google search, Bucky could confirm that it was LGBT+ exclusive, and extremely private. Bucky was grateful for Steve’s consideration. Bucky’s eyes wandered to his closet, where, hidden at the back, a sleek black dress was hanging, never worn outside of the apartment. Only he and Nat knew it existed, and as much as she’d tried, she’d never got him to wear it.

Maybe it was time to be brave.

 **Bucky** : _It’s a date. Xx_

**@BuckyBarnes: Today has been very strange indeed, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Tomorrow might be stranger still. I think, maybe, I really needed this.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUCKY DID YOU REMEMBER TO TEXT NAT WHEN YOU WOKE UP? SHE WILL END YOU.
> 
> We're nearly at the end, which seems very strange considering how time appears to be working right now. I do have so many ideas for ficlets in this series, I want to explore Steve and Bucky's relationship AS a relationship, so yeahhhh but I also want to write new stuff! I've been going through such a rough patch mentally and writing fic is like a balm that soothes all wounds I s2g. Send me prompts at jbbarnes.tumblr.com and I'll love you forever. 
> 
> Speaking of... I have a new fic (one-shot) that I'll be uploading this Sunday, with art (!!!!) which is freaking gorgeous, and I really hope you'll like it. It's a bit different for me, but as always, a happy ending or your money back. :) 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're staying safe, staying healthy, and you're doing well. I watched The Witcher (finally) so now I'm neck deep in exploring that fandom, so that's fun. Take care. xx


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We made it.

Bucky fell back to sleep at around 3am, and woke up at 11am with a jolt, realising how little time he had to get to the coffee shop.

He had a quick shower, towel drying his hair until it was just a little damp and curling naturally. He wasn’t as good at makeup as Nat, but he had a steady hand and that counted for a lot, so with careful precision and makeup wipes on hand, he applied winged eyeliner and eye shadow, and a little lip gloss, making his lips a glittery shiny pink.

He grabbed an apple from his seldom used fruit bowl and held it with his mouth as he rifled through his wardrobe for the dress. It was thankfully uncreased, and looked just as beautiful as it had the day he’d furtively bought it in the shop, not meeting anybody’s eyes as he did so.

Now, putting the apple down on his bedside after taking a bite, he slid the dress over his head, watching as the fabric fell over his body and the elastic in the material clung to him, dragging his waist in and flowing out over his hips. The hem brushed mid-thigh, and felt nice when he moved, and when he looked in the mirror – he wasn’t scared. Maybe the whole situation was already so bizarre that his brain had just given up on fear entirely, or maybe, maybe this was okay.

He finished the apple in another few bites, and reapplied his lip gloss, grabbed his phone and called an Uber. As much as the dress looked good on him (and how wild was it that he could admit that?) he didn’t want to walk down the street in it.

When the Uber was two minutes away, he headed out of his apartment, a coat thrown over his shoulders, but doing nothing to conceal his bare legs. The Uber driver didn’t look at him twice, just confirmed the address he was going to. It was a relief.

He sat in the car and tried not to fidget, pulling the hem of the dress down as it rode up slightly, worried a little at what Steve might think.

But then, if Steve didn’t accept him like this, then Steve wasn’t someone Bucky wanted to date anyway.

After twenty five minutes of stop-start Brooklyn traffic, Bucky arrived at the coffee shop, to discover it was in a basement, down narrow steps. At the door, he was asked for ID, which was a novel experience, and was told Steve was waiting for him.

He spotted Steve’s blond hair, shining golden under the dim lights, and smiled. Steve was significantly more underdressed than yesterday, in a simple tailored button down, but he’d kept the suspenders. Bucky’s belly did a small flip, and he urged himself to be calm.

As he approached, Steve looked up, and started to smile in recognition, before his mouth seemed to drop open in a way Bucky didn’t think happened in real life. Bucky watched as Steve’s eyes made their way up and down Bucky’s body, and grinned to himself, feeling flushed and pleased.

“You look amazing,” Steve said, and stood to take Bucky’s coat.

“So do you,” Bucky said, glad that he could actually talk this time round. He let Steve take his coat and drape it over the back of a spare chair. Steve shook his head.

“Not compared to you. You look unreal.”

Bucky blushed, and was thankful for the dim lighting, hoping it’d hide the red of his cheeks.

“This is a strange place,” he said, for want of anything else, and Steve smiled.

“It was recommended to me by a friend. I wanted you to be able to be yourself, and I wanted to be able to talk to you openly. I want to get to know you, Bucky.”

“I want to get to know you too,” Bucky said. “It’s weird but – before yesterday, I thought I knew you. I thought all kinds of things, I suppose. But actually meeting you, that made you real, and now I feel like you’re a brand new person to me.”

Steve tilted his head, listening to him talk.

“So we’re on even ground then,” he said. “I hope, anyway. I feel like I keep saying this, but if you want to leave at any time, you can. I won’t mind. Or I will mind, but I’ll understand.”

“I don’t think I’ll want to leave,” Bucky said. “I want to get to know you too,” he repeated.

A waiter came and took their coffee orders, and Steve ordered a tray of cookies for the table as well. When the waiter left, Steve fixed Bucky with a gaze Bucky couldn’t look away from.

“When I saw you in that shop, I wanted to ask you to coffee then, but your friend pulled you away before I could,” he said. “I’d never seen anyone quite like you before, and I don’t know, I haven’t dated in nearly three years, but I saw you, and I thought, god, this could be it. Is that too much? Oh god – I didn’t think to ask, you are single, right? The red head?”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s a little much, perhaps. I’m glad it’s now though, instead. I think you would have been disappointed in me if we’d gone for coffee that day. I don’t think I’d realised you were a real person at that point. Do you get that a lot? Oh. And I’m very single. She’s a friend. A very good friend, and it feels like saying ‘just’ a friend makes her seem less, somehow, so she’s a friend. I love her a lot.”

Steve let out a huff of a laugh.

“Honestly, when I overheard you in the changing rooms, I didn’t know what to think. I’m glad you’re single though. And - all the time, the not realising I’m a real person thing. It’s not bad, or malicious, it’s just part of the whole thing. Fame, or whatever. It’s really one-sided. So people think they know me, and they think that there’s a balance to that, because that’s how human minds are programmed to work, if you know a lot about someone, then they must know a lot about you too, right? Only, with this, situation, or whatever, it’s one way traffic. It’s really hard to reconcile that there are people out there who think they love me, and I wish I could tell them that it doesn’t work like that, but at the same time, it’s not hurting anyone. It’s unrealistic, sure, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s pretty innocent.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably.

“I was like that. I shouldn’t have – perhaps. I think sometimes, well, for me, you kind of saved me when I was in a really dark place and gave me the boost I needed. And I guess I sort of extrapolated from that. You became a safe space for me to explore myself and to make friends. But it was just one way, wasn’t it? You were like a caricature for us, never anything real.”

“This is real though,” Steve said, gesturing to himself. “I’m real now. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel good. It’s like you’re two people in my head. It’s a little strange. But I’m learning to separate them out.”

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want,” Steve said carefully.

Bucky nodded.

“Your pronouns, what do you prefer? I don’t want to assume anything.”

Bucky fiddled with the hem of his dress, before answering, not quite looking Steve in the eye, before finding that he could, and finding only acceptance there.

“I use he/him, but it’s – I’ve only really been out to myself for the past two years. I feel like that could change. It probably will. Is that something that – bothers you?”

“No! No, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t misgender you. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way. I just wanted to check.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said.

“It shouldn’t be something you have to thank me for. It’s just common decency.”

“It’s rare,” Bucky admitted. “You don’t know, but it’s so rare.”

The waiter brought their coffees and cookies over, and Bucky took a sip, warming his hands on the mug.

“Why me?” He asked, and Steve looked at him, considering.

“Well, like I said, it’s been a long time, and I guess I struggle with dating a little, I think maybe I could be on the ace spectrum somewhere, I don’t really need to seek it out, and when I do I don’t really feel comfortable with someone for a long time. But I saw you and all of that sort of – melted away. There you were, and I just – saw you. And it felt like waking up.”

Steve smiled shyly, and Bucky smiled back.

“Thank you. For seeing me,” Bucky said, and slid a foot out under the table to knock against Steve’s ankle.

“I think I was waiting for you,” Steve said, and the walls Bucky had spent twenty five years building to protect himself slowly started to crumble.

*

After their bellies are full of coffee and cookies, and after Steve has graciously paid the bill, and after they have talked as though they have known each other for lifetimes, it is time to leave, all too soon.

“I want to see you again, if you’d let me,” Steve said, helping Bucky into his coat.

“Of course,” Bucky said.

Steve moved a little closer, fixing the collar of Bucky’s coat, and Bucky shivered as Steve’s hand drifted a little closer to his face, until Steve’s knuckle brushed Bucky’s cheekbone.

“I want to kiss you, is that okay?” Steve asked, voice deeper than Bucky had ever heard it, his vowels dripping heavy.

Bucky nodded, and ducked his head slightly, noting that Steve rose up on his tiptoes just a tiny bit to reach.

The kiss was soft, chaste, and Bucky was all too aware that they were in a coffee shop, private and queer or no. Steve pulled back, pupils blown.

“I’ve wanted to do that for too long,” he said, and trailed his hand down Bucky’s arm to find his hand, squeezing it gently. “What have you done to me? You’ve ruined me, Bucky.”

“That sounds like a bad thing,” Bucky murmured, soft, pliant, willing, wanting.

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” Bucky said, already leaning in to kiss Steve again.

“What if it’s true?” Steve said, before being silenced by Bucky’s lips on his.

*

**@BuckyBarnes: Sometimes, on a February afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky, in a basement coffee shop somewhere, things are okay. And sometimes, that’s everything.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's dress: https://imgur.com/a/iRNTEZX (it's from Pull & Bear)
> 
> This is the end! There's an epilogue coming on Friday, and I might write some ficlets in this 'verse, because it feels like we're just at the beginning, but this is all I wrote, and I like how it leaves the future open to all possibilities. 
> 
> I think Steve would identify as grey-ace, in as much as he probably doesn't experience sexual attraction often, but he happened to with Bucky, as well as aesthetic attraction. 
> 
> I'll say my thanks properly after the epilogue, but thank you for sticking with this fic. I know it's been slightly strange, but to the people who commented on every chapter, know that it brightened my day significantly to see your names time and time again, and how you followed the story and cared enough to comment on what was happening. <3
> 
> I'm looking for prompts (always) so hit me up on tumblr (jbbarnes.tumblr.com) or Twitter (@smallreprieves) with your fluffiest, weirdest ideas. They may take a weird direction, but there'll always be a happy ending.
> 
> Also feel free to check out the fic I posted recently called 'gospel, for the fallen ones', about Stucky through the decades. I'm really proud of it.
> 
> Okay. I love you all. Stay safe and take care. Let's hope this world gets better soon. <3 xx


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. To the people who showed up to comment every week. To the people who took this fic into their hearts.To the people who didn't judge, but instead, wanted to learn. This is for you.

There are multiple futures laid out in front of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, all of them hazy but slowly coming into focus. Futures that involve Steve planning on staying in Brooklyn for another month, but extending it, time and time again, until it becomes cheaper to move into Bucky’s apartment until he’s found his own place, which in turn slowly becomes _their_ place. Futures that involve Bucky’s book being made into a film and Steve playing the lead role, the role he’d wished he could play, Bucky watching on proudly, knowing that they’d based the character on a Steve Rogers they didn’t know, and seeing him realised by a Steve they know perfectly. Futures that involve gender euphoria and self-exploration and maybe a few tears as Bucky discovers who they are, changing their pronouns until they find the ones that fit just right. Futures that involve bleary Monday mornings with nowhere to be and a warm bed to share. Futures that involve the words ‘I love you’, whispered on a sunset red May night, who said it first lost to history.

The cactus on Bucky’s desk blooms small pink flowers, petals soft as silk. 

I can’t tell you those futures, because there are too many and each of them spawns brand new possibilities. All I know is this – Bucky and Steve are happy, and together, Bucky beautiful and confident, Steve shining like the sun, and perhaps one day there will be rings on their fingers, tying them together, promises kept, and a world of tomorrows ahead of them.

It’s a strange world, but I have to tell you this:

It’s going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS OFFICIALLY NOT THE END OF THIS 'VERSE. I don't know what I'm going to write yet, but there are going to be more little ficlets and snippets as they come to me. I love this version of Bucky and Steve, so yeah. :) 
> 
> But, as endings go, this is an ending. I wrote this back in January, when I was worried about meeting Seb in May in Rome, and needed an outlet. Obviously, that's not going to happen now, but instead I have this story and all your lovely comments instead. THANK YOU. This fic was always going to be a love letter to fandom, but so much more so now, with everything going on in the world, fic has such amazing power for good, and I've found a lot of solace in re-reading my favourites, even though some of them are five years old.
> 
> I have a vague idea of something epic I'd like to write, I don't know if I can pull it off though - might need to build up to it. I'm also signed up for the Big Bang, and that fic is written, finished and beta'd, so that's definitely going to happen! I've got a ficlet to come out on Sunday, and a couple more for next week. I want to keep writing, because it distracts me and gives me something productive and tangible to say I've done instead of staring at Twitter all day. So, as always, any prompts are gratefully received at jbbarnes.tumblr.com, or @smallreprieves on Twitter. :) 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this weird little fic. Your comments have meant everything to me. Stay safe, take care, and stay kind and curious. Thank you for accepting Bucky as they are. *hugs* xx
> 
> P.S. I guess the cactus WAS a metaphor.

**Author's Note:**

> The cactus is a metaphor (probably).
> 
> This fic updates every Wednesday.
> 
> This fic is based on my own con experiences (primarily ACE) and also my own nonbinary experiences, gender is confusing? If I fuck up, let me know.
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day, and if you want to subscribe that's awesome too, so then you won't miss anything. The chapters are only short, I'm not one of those people who can write 5k chapters, sorry.
> 
> My tumblr is jbbarnes.tumblr.com, my Twitter is @smallreprieves.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read. :)


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